Marion posted a link to a fascinating tale written by her fencing teacher's master's master, an account of his participation in a live-weapon duel against "the excellent fencing critic of the most important Italian newspaper".
Newspapers employed fencing critics? That's just so bizarre and wonderful; I don't know why, but it calls up images of gaslight Victorian thrillers and mysterious gentlemen's clubs with high-backed velvet chairs, snifters of cognac and Meerschaum pipes. Which in turn makes me want to play a game of Call of Cthulhu.